


Falling Apart

by Redisaid



Series: Falling [6]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Everyone look at how cute Sponge is and don't pay attention to the rest, F/F, Lore happened, Nothing is fine, Please check your pitchforks at the door, Secret Relationship, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Sponge is here though, Stream of Consciousness, everything is fine, third war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: Winter is closing in on Lordaeron. The plague is running rampant, with no cure in sight. The only good things Sylvanas and Jaina have are each other, and even that may not last much longer.





	Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> The warning from the last part still applies! Rocky road ahead! Please do not proceed if you are expecting fluff!

She woke up warm. She woke up safe. She woke up heavy with sleep, but light on other thoughts. No dreams. No nightmares. She buried herself deeper in the scent of the forest, into the feeling of warm skin and slow breaths that tickled across the bridge of her nose. She tried to soothe herself back into the blackness of sleep. For a few moments, she thought of nothing else but the strong arms that held her close, of the long bare legs that tangled with hers. For a few moments, that was everything to Jaina.

But the waking world was calling, with its worries and troubles. These days, they far outnumbered the pleasant things in life. They had to go back today. They’d stolen three whole days together this time, more than either of them could really spare from their schedules and responsibilities. A little selfishness was in order, though. When the rest of the world seemed to be rotting away around them, they were allowed their vices. Some people drank. Some people dabbled in far more toxic and addictive coping mechanisms. Jaina and Sylvanas chose one another to escape with instead.

Though that was a lot harder to explain than a few extra glasses of wine in the evening. 

But her thoughts eventually caught up with her. And her legs followed. They untangled from Sylvanas’ and gently as possible, as did her arms. She knew that she would wake her. That wasn’t up for debate. The elf was a light sleeper--not to mention a career soldier with excellent hearing. There was no fooling her. Still, Jaina was gentle anyway. The world needed every ounce of gentleness they could add to it.

The grey light of morning streamed in from the cabin's lone window, though it was mostly frosted over. Winter surrounded them, encasing their hideaway like a vault. To Jaina, it almost felt like a calming blanket, shutting out the outside world. Buried here, beneath ice and snow, they could almost pretend that no threats loomed down from the mountains.

But down there, in Lordaeron, winter wasn't the same. No noticeable amount of snow had fallen so far. Everything was brown and grey, a reflection of a dying land, even where the plague hadn't yet spread. The capital was rife with refugees. People shuffled aimlessly through the streets, having nothing left but their own lives and the clothes on their backs. And there was still no cure. There was even less of a hope for one now. Doomsayers would walk the streets, chanting the end of Lordaeron and the Alliance, even humanity itself in their wake.

And Jaina did her best in Dalaran. She tried. She was hoarse from arguing with the Archmages, and her fingers ached from days of note-taking and experimentation. Like the rest of them, she tried. She wondered why she did, sometimes. What hope could she bring to those staggering refugees, who had lost everything already? Any cure she might help to find wouldn't bring back their loved ones. It wouldn't bring their homes and villages back from ruin. It wouldn't even save the crops they had let rot in the fields.

But her hope was a fickle, nagging thing--ever-present and burning, even when the flames lay low. 

They had to go back. There was still work to do.

Jaina wrapped herself in a stray robe and tended to the coals in the hearth, feeding them more of the healthy stack of dry logs that Sylvanas kept in a neat pile. She felt eyes on her back, but didn't turn to acknowledge them yet. No, not yet. She liked this routine, this domesticity and normalness of the few quiet moments in their early mornings.

She stoked the coals back into a proper fire. She measured a few handfuls of grain from a jar and added it to a pot over the renewed flames. From another jar, she spooned a generous dollop of honey in with them. She found tea in a third jar and added it to their kettle.

Then, just to ruin any sense of normalcy, she made a silent little gesture to indicate that everything was ready, and watched as Sponge formed up from the floorboards beside her, then did his part in filling both vessels with water. That was so much easier than melting snow. Plus, it seemed to make the elemental happy. Jaina got the distinct impression he liked to be useful. If nothing else, the odd little noise he made once he'd added just the right amount of water for their porridge and tea was definitely as satisfied one.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him. Again, not because the volume of her voice mattered, but just out of principle.

Sponge offered another high pitched gargle in response and one of his nods.

“We have to leave today,” Jaina went on. “I’m not sure when we will come back next. Take care that you don't freeze up here in this cold. You know you can come visit me, if you like.”

Even though he was mostly pulled into his normal shape, Sponge still responded to that by dripping on her from the ceiling.

Jaina found herself looking over to search what little he had in the way of features for an expression. “I miss you when I'm gone, my friend. I know you know what that's like, to miss someone.”

Jaina's hearing was by no means bad, but also by no means elven. She honestly hadn't even heard the blankets rustle. She certainly didn’t hear the steps. No, those were silent, always silent somehow.

She only felt arms slip around her, still bed-warm and slack with sleep. 

“Mmm, but do you miss me?” Sylvanas mumbled against her shoulder. 

“Always.”

It came out as a breathless whisper as Jaina leaned into her touch. She was afraid to say it, but let it out anyway. They danced around these things--neither wanting to profess anything more than just enjoying their time together. 

But she did. Jaina missed her terribly each night they spent apart. She missed Sylvanas’ songs and her deep laughter. She missed her gentle touch and the strength that always seemed to just flow from her, just enough to bring Jaina back up again every time they managed to meet.

And still, Sylvanas only replied with a sleepy chuckle. But sometimes it was her that would slip. She had this look. A little tilt of her head. A barely noticeable twitch of her ears. Her eyes would narrow slightly and she would say something too soft and too fond and too close to love, then pull right back again, as if afraid to ruin what they had by saying words she could not take back or joke away.

At least, that's what Jaina hoped it was.

“Mmm, you’re warm,” Sylvanas hummed into her. She wrapped Jaina in the quilt she’d stolen from the bed. She hadn’t bothered to clothe herself otherwise.

Jaina breathed out, letting that feeling go. No. Now was not the time. “I think bothering to get a little bit dressed helps,” she commented as she leaned back further into Sylvanas.

“No fun,” Sylvanas mumbled at her again. 

“Do you have time for breakfast?” Jaina questioned. “I didn’t even think to ask.”

“If they expect me to be truly awake for this briefing, then I’ll at least need some tea,” Sylvanas lamented. 

Jaina turned around to kiss her. She couldn’t help but admire the wonderful state of the esteemed Ranger General before her. Her silken blonde hair was a mess, sticking up at all ends, somehow almost knotted around one long ear. Even her long eyebrows were askew. Her shining silvery blue eyes were barely open, regarding Jaina with only the faintest of glows. She leaned in to place a single chaste kiss against her lips before smiling and saying, “Go get decent then.”

Sylvanas turned with a huff and swept the quilt around her like the most regal of cloaks. 

Beside Jaina, Sponge had kept his shape. Since their foray out fighting against the Cult of the Damned, the elemental had seemingly become comfortable with his form. He’d since lost his fear of Sylvanas as well. In fact, Jaina was all but certain that he preferred her to his mistress. 

Well, that was fine. So did she. She could hardly blame him. 

He gave off one of his little noises again.

“See? I know you’ll miss Sylvanas at least,” Jaina noted as she bent back down to stir the porridge. 

Sponge shook the part of him that resembled a head. Just as Jaina was about to joke back at him, she felt a cool drop of water run down her back, and heard Sylvanas shout, “Please, Sponge! Not on the face! Not this early!”

Then he made the noise again. 

Jaina looked back over her shoulder to find a half-dressed elf wiping water off of her forehead. She smiled again at the sight.

“I’m sorry, Sponge. I don’t understand. When this plague mess is all over, I’ll need to figure out if there’s some way we can talk better. I know you’ve got a lot to tell me, but I’m afraid I’m pretty bad at charades,” Jaina told him.

His shoulders seemed to sag a bit in defeat. Jaina could see him start to slowly melt into the floorboards again, little by little.

“Are you just happy to see us together?” Jaina asked him.

He perked up a little, but didn’t offer anything more than just keeping himself solid. 

Jaina didn’t offer him the “me too” that threatened to spill from her lips either.

Every time they did manage to spend any decent length of time together, Jaina began to slowly forget that this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t really a routine--getting together the simple wooden bowls and spoons, setting their lopsided table with them, and pouring the tea from the hot kettle into the fat little ceramic teapot to go along with the rest. She forgot that she didn’t normally grab two mugs for tea. Honestly, she didn’t even normally make it. It was usually made for her, as was her breakfast, or just about any meal these days.

But Jaina never minded cooking here. It never seemed like a burden or a chore. It was just another part of their affection--another thing they could pretend at. Afterall, they had first bonded over a mutual love desire for good hot food on a chilly, rainy day. Things hadn’t changed much in that year. Well, they had, but they hadn’t.

More than a year. Fuck. Had it been that long?

It felt almost like time moved on separate track here. In this cramped little cottage, they were other people, who lived other lives and had other interests. Everything was simple. They ate when they were hungry. They slept when they were tired. They kissed when they wanted to. They did more than that if they desired it. 

But mostly, the days moved slowly and easily. They were just there, just present for one another. Never demanding. Never wanting for more than what they got, because that was too much like the terrors of the world outside, where no one got what they wanted, much less what they deserved.

And that made each reminder that it wasn’t normal to trade little laughs across the table as they ate and talked of nothing important worse than the next. Every minute that their goodbyes got closer sped time up. The comfortable haze that hung over everything began to fade. 

Soon enough, the dishes were empty and forgotten. Sponge would take care of them once they’d gone. Jaina was in Sylvanas’ arms again, though this time pressed up against her ranger leathers instead of warm skin. She just held her. Too tight and too long, but Jaina wasn’t about to complain. They shared one more lingering kiss before Sylvanas’ hand fished the silver chain of her wooden transportation charm out from under her collar. 

She hesitated a moment. Her thumb was just short of pressing the rune that would take her back to Quel’thalas. “I…”

Not now, was what Jaina almost wanted to say. Not now, in this hopeless world, where every day stunk a little more of death and seemed to dawn a little dimmer. Not now. 

But Tides, she wanted to hear those words.

“I will let you know when I can come around again,” was what she got instead. “I’ll leave a note here. The usual way, of course. I suspect it will be few more weeks, though. I’m sorry.”

No. This was was better. It was for the best. Jaina reached out a hand to Sylvanas’ cheek. “I understand,” she told her. 

Sylvanas nodded before turning to press a kiss into her palm. Her lips turned from warm and soft to odd sensations of cold pinpricks as she began to fade away. 

Sponge had long since soaked back into the framework of the cabin, but Jaina couldn’t help but bid him one last goodbye before she left too. It was just a little wave, but she knew he saw it. She felt it, through the little string around her heart that was their bond. 

Yes, he would miss her too.

Even just moments after fading into Dalaran, she could feel it’s presence loom over her. Even in the loneliness of her room, it’s great spires seemed a heavy weight, all watching over her. Or...wait. Jaina shot out a wave of magic before she even turned around to follow it. It collided with a force that not only caught it, but held it back from her, tugging her. 

She turned around to find Modera sitting on her bed. 

Shit.

“Your wards were very good,” Modera started. “If it makes you feel any better, I only just managed to break my way in an hour ago, and I am very good at what I do. I’d always had a suspicion that you went somewhere, and I’m not here to find out where or why. I don’t care about that. Not now.”

To her credit, Jaina managed not to startle too hard. She tried to keep calm as she asked, “Then why are you here?”

“Why don’t you sit down, Jaina?” Modera said. She scooted over a bit and pat the empty space on the bed next to her.

“What’s going on?” Jaina asked, though this time a little bit more fear than she wanted to let out leaked into her voice.

“Jaina...just...sit down, please,” Modera replied wearily as she pinched at the bridge of her nose. “I promise you that I don’t care what you’re doing. I promise that I don’t know anything beyond not being able to find you in the city. I only wish you hadn’t been away so long this time.”

“Modera…”

“Something’s happened, while you were gone. Something terrible. Something no one expected. Please, Jaina. Please sit down.”

\---

Her heart raced. Tears that before were too shocked to fall from her were finally starting to leak from the corners of her eyes. Slowly. Just slowly. 

It had hit her all at once. The words were spoken over the course of hours, but their impact came like a delayed meteor. 

Modera had given her a brief rundown. Antonidas provided more details when she sat in on a briefing about what the Kirin Tor’s current plans were. Which were nothing. Always nothing. Always too neutral, too old-fashioned, and too cautious.

But the shock had worn off, finally. Jaina excused herself when she found she suddenly couldn’t breathe, but the fresh, cold air outside on Antonidas’ balcony was no better. She only managed to suck in tiny breaths of it, even as her lungs burned and her chest grew tighter and tighter. 

Arthas had returned, virtually alone, and acting strange. He had walked up into his father’s open arms and then plunged a sword into his chest. He had somehow revived Kel’thuzad’s cult. He had killed Uther. The undead followed him, no longer roaming the land as mindless ghouls, but now moving under his command as an army that had no need for rest, and destroyed everything in their wake.

And he was marching for Quel’thalas.

Lordaeron was on the verge of collapse. The Silver Hand had been decimated. Yet all she could think to do was put her hand to her pendant and call for Sylvanas. It felt so selfish. She had her own people to worry about. Moreso now than ever.

But Jaina couldn’t breathe. She could only hear heart thudding violently against her ribs, its pulse not too unlike the drums of war. 

And then only one more thing--the flutter of wings, of a great collection of feathers too large for any normal bird to produce.

“They won’t see wisdom. They don’t know fear as you do. They haven’t laid eyes on the horrors of this new world as you have. They don’t know what it is capable of, but you do, young sorceress.”

The Prophet stood before her, the black feathers of his mantle shining even in the dim winter sun.

“That is why it must be you,” he went on. “You understand. You’ve seen what Arthas is capable of, even before he held that cursed blade. You know he will not stop until this land is reduced to ash.”

Jaina found enough air in her lungs to launch a protest. “You speak of him as if that’s the Arthas I know,” she slung back at him. “As if I don’t remember a kind boy that just wanted to grow up to be a hero.”

“You may tell yourself that. You may sleep better for it, but I know that he was meant for this fate, and I sense that you feel it too. His pride was his downfall, as it will be for those who do not heed my warnings. Go west, child. Go now, while there is still strength left to gather in this land for the coming storm,” the Prophet bade her.

“Even if I did, no one would follow me,” Jaina told him as she wiped the tears that were still standing in her eyes. “Even now, the Archmages sit back there and talk of standing by to see what will happen while Arthas cuts a path through northern Lordaeron. They won’t go to Kalimdor.”

“They won’t be needed there. There are many that will not follow you, Jaina Proudmoore. More of them than those that will. That is always how it is. Time and time again, the right side of history is that is first called insane. But you must believe. You must make them believe, not your leaders, but your people--the people that need you to save them,” The Prophet continued.

He was never this verbose, never this specific. Still, it was all riddles, but something raw lay behind them this time. They spoke often these days, so she would know the difference. He hardly left her alone, really. Truly, he must have been running out of options.

“They’re hardly my people. Besides, what’s the point then? Even if I could make them follow me...” she found herself asking. Somehow, she could breathe again. She still felt apprehension clutching her chest like a vice, but her lungs had somehow managed to make the small space that was left for them work. 

“Life itself,” the Prophet told her. “If that is not enough for you, then I fear my pleas fall on deaf ears.”

He began to change shape again, twisting back into a mass of black feathers. 

“Wait!” Jaina cried out before he was fully reformed as a bird. “Tell me one thing. Please. If you truly know what will happen, tell me one thing.”

His raven form answered her with a clack of its beak. “If it will make you listen…”

“Is there a chance, for anyone who doesn’t go to Kalimdor as you say we should? Will any of them be spared in your prophecy?” she asked.

The bird tilted his head, eyeing her with the black pearls of eyes that were set deep behind his equally dark feathers. “There is always hope. For some, their fates are already written. For others, I see many paths, each diverging, splitting, offering ends both good and bad. But that’s for me to know. It is my burden to bear. Just know that this land belongs to the dead now, and you’d best leave it if you wish to continue living.”

Jaina watched him fly away. Only after he was gone did she pull the chain out from beneath her robes again. She carefully took the transportation charm between a thumb and a finger, examining its glowing runes, but not touching them. She flipped it back and forth again. 

No, Sylvanas had her own problems to deal with now. They could talk about this later. 

Jaina had work to do.

\---

She didn’t resist that siren’s call long, though. Jaina tried as soon as she could get away that evening, only to be met with a response of two quick jolts of energy that zipped through her chest--a signal they had invented. It meant, no, not yet. 

She tried forcing herself to find dinner, then ate very little of it. She went back to her room and paced. She pressed the rune again.

Two more jolts greeted her. 

Jaina went to the cabin anyway. It was dark and cold, but she busied herself with starting a fire. Sponge greeted her with a gurgle, but she could barely bring herself to acknowledge him. 

She had to think. She needed...she needed to tell Sylvanas about the Prophet. She would understand. She would see how serious this was. She had to.

But Jaina had heard it all day, in those meetings and briefings. The elves seemed hardly concerned. Their defenses were impenetrable, they said. Their elfgates would hold off a foe with twice the army Arthas had marching with him. And his army was made of corpse thralls that simply did his bidding, not intelligent and capable soldiers, and certainly not veterans of the Second War, with centuries of experience and a great deal magic at their disposal.

Pride, the Prophet had said, would be their downfall. Yet pride was all that Jaina heard from the elves in Dalaran.

She pressed the rune again. 

This time, there was no response.

“Where is she Sponge?” she asked.

Of course, he didn’t know, but gave her a sympathy drip nonetheless. Jaina knew, though. Sylvanas had an army to lead, an invasion to fight off. 

And she was going to try to convince her to leave all of that behind.

“All right, all right,” finally came from just inside the door of the cabin. “I’m here now.”

And Sylvanas was there, clad again in the simpler battle armor, but looking as if she’d worn it all day. It was late already. She looked exhausted. 

Jaina felt just a tiny pang of guilt at that. 

And Sylvanas looked confused as she approached her. “You...don’t seem as upset as I thought you’d be about all this.”

Jaina still stretched out her arms to draw her in regardless. “Oh I was. I am. I just...I need to tell you something. I know you probably don’t have a lot time.”

Sylvanas didn’t shy away from her touch. Actually, she melted into it, tired and boneless. Jaina could feel the chill on her skin. Even in the enchanted warmth of Quel’thalas, winter had settled in. She still smelled of the forest, as she always did, but that was less prevalent than other things now--woodsmoke, leather, horse--the last of these being most prevalent. She must have been riding all day.

“I don’t. I have to prepare our armies. I...probably won’t be able to see you again for some time,” Sylvanas told her.

“Which is why I have to tell you this now,” Jaina said. 

She took a deep breath, trying to gather strength as if it lived in the air around them. Usually, Sylvanas seemed to have some to give her, but not today. She could feel the weight that had been cast on the other woman. She could feel it in the slump of her shoulders, in the slackness of her grip. War was a heavy thing. Jaina had come to appreciate that, but she knew she had no comparison to being tasked with defending an entire race of people.

Or well, maybe she would, if she continued to try to do what was asked of her. But that was a terrifying thought for another day.

“Have you heard about the Prophet? The one that’s been saying this land is lost, that we’ll all die if we don’t pick up and leave west, across the sea?” Jaina asked the elf in her arms.

“Of course. The people say he’s bothered all the leaders of the Alliance of Lordaeron--even our king. Of course, Anasterian denies that. Some of our magisters say they witnessed him talk to Terenas, though,” Sylvanas told her.

“I’ve seen him many times,” Jaina said. “He’s very real. At first, he wasn’t talking to me. He spoke to Antonidas, then to Arthas. I could sense his power then, and that’s all that I thought of, really. I just wondered why this extremely powerful mage was going around spouting fatalistic nonsense at everyone. I guess I was a bit of a last resort, but he hasn’t left me alone since Stratholme. He keeps telling me that I have to do this, that I have to lead the people west.”

Sylvanas shuffled in her arms, pushing Jaina back just enough to be able to read her expression, but not saying anything yet.

“I think...I think I’m starting to believe him,” Jaina went on. “I think we should have listened before. Look what happened now that we didn’t. I’m beginning to wonder how many more people will die before we do.”

Sylvanas shook her head. “This happens with every great war. There are always those whose cryptic messages are taken as the truth, but you could literally say anything awful now, then wait long enough and it will eventually come true. That is the way of things. But this isn’t the end of Lordaeron, just it’s darkest days yet.”

“What about Quel’thalas, though?” Jaina asked. 

Sylvanas sighed. Jaina could see her draw on something, a memory perhaps, that brought her a new resolve. Some of the exhaustion seemed to drain from her as she summoned whatever it was up with a practiced speed. “I won’t lie to you. It’s not going to be easy or pretty. But we learned from the orcs. We changed things. We made it impossible for that to happen to us again. Quel’thalas is prepared to handle a long and awful siege. We’re prepared to pick off Arthas’ forces little by little, until he runs out of corpses to throw at our walls. What happens after he gets tired of it is my concern. Well, my concern for you, really, but don’t worry about me, or about my people. That’s my job.”

Pride. Confidence. Technology and magic and culture, all oozing from centuries upon centuries of victories and perseverance. Yes, the elves had kept the north their own since before there even was a Lordaeron. 

But how could Jaina explain that this was exactly why she had to second guess them?

“I just don’t think it will turn out the way you hope it will,” she tried to start, but found that she couldn’t voice these doubts. They were something deeper than words. Like the Prophet had said, they were something like fear. They were the distant look in Arthas’ eyes when he left her in the burning wreckage of Stratholme. They were the haunted echoes of the bells that rang throughout the land below them, mustering soldiers for battle and calling civilians to flee. They were the tissue samples in her group’s lab that wouldn’t react to anything that tried to repair them. Even holy magic only killed them. It had been clear to her for a while now that the undead could not be saved. They could only be destroyed. 

“Quel’thalas is a door that locks from the inside only, Jaina--as well you know from the time that you managed to slip past it,” Sylvanas assured her. “For just about anyone but you, with your skills in accidental teleportation, they need to be invited to enter. We held the orcs off before. This time, though, we’re getting everyone evacuated to the city before the attack comes. Or trying to, at least. We don’t have much time.”

“What if he doesn’t stop? What if he gets through?” Jaina wondered.

“He won’t get through, and he will eventually have to stop,” Sylvanas replied quickly and decisively. “Either he’ll stop with an arrow through his heart, or when he runs out of plagued corpses to fight for him, we can hold our own until then. Thankfully, the disease doesn’t affect us either, so any casualties we incur won’t add to his forces.”

Jaina moved to try to protest again, but stopped as Sylvanas kissed her. It was long and slow and sincere.

“But for you, I do worry,” Sylvanas told her when she pulled away. “I spoke with Anasterian and his advisors at length today about whether or not we can realistically offer shelter to the refugees of Lordaeron. He didn’t want to hear about it, but even as we went over the numbers, well, there’s just no way. We don’t have the means to produce enough food or housing. We couldn’t get people in fast enough either. So I don’t know what’s going to happen to you. What are you going to do, Jaina? How can I help to keep you safe?”

“I…”

What was she going to do? Was she going to wait around in Dalaran for the Archmages to decide some course of action? Was she going to try to argue for listening to the Prophet there, when no one had taken her seriously earlier that day? Was she going to try to find what authorities remained in power in Lordaeron and speak to them. Could she? Would she? Where would she go?

“I’m going to Kalimdor,” Jaina answered, more for herself than Sylvanas. 

Sylvanas shook her head again. “Why? To follow the words of a madman? No, Jaina. Don’t stay here, but don’t do that. You should go home until this is all over with.”

It took her several moments to understand what that meant. Home? Where was home? Was it here, in the quiet domesticity of this cabin, in the simple pleasures of a warmth hearth, good food, and pleasant company? Was it in Dalaran, where she earned respect at a snail’s pace? Was it in Lordaeron, among the ghosts of all those that had once welcomed her there?

No. That’s not what Sylvanas meant. She meant a place that hadn’t been home to Jaina for a decade now. A place that was steeped in odd shades of colorful childhood memories, but tinged with darker shades by the pain of being removed from them. “To Kul Tiras?” she asked, giving voice to it.

“Yes, you will be safe there,” Sylvanas told her.

She probably would be. She would really only have to face the icy glare of her mother’s eyes, and the constant barrage of questions she was likely to get about what happened here in Lordaeron.

But, that was another thing she couldn’t put into words. How could she tell Sylvanas that that place was no longer home? It wasn’t a haven. She could go there, yes. She could do it right now. But there were many reasons that she hardly visited after all this time away, even when she could easily just open a portal to Boralus. You can’t just invite yourself back into a place that has cast you out--a place where you never really belonged. You can live there. You can be present in that place, but it will never be your home.

“I...no,” Jaina offered. “No. If there is no place else for me to go, I will consider it, but no.”

Sylvanas embraced her again. “Not Kalimdor then. Not some foolish journey.”

“You can’t tell me that you’re not frightened,” Jaina nearly shouted as she pushed away this time. “You can’t tell me that you believe that you can stand against the undead and come out unscathed!”

Sylvanas leveled her gaze. Her eyes were shining steel. Jaina could clearly see every line that dared to pull at the skin around them, every patch of darkness beneath them. Sylvanas threatened her with weariness, with the weight of it all. “I have to try. I have to.”

“Come with me. Please. If you’re so worried about me, come with me to Kalimdor,” Jaina pleaded.

“I can’t, and you know that.”

She did know. She had known. Like everything else these days, it was another certainty that Jaina wasn’t meant to change. But she had to try. She always had to try.

“If you could forget duty, forget honor, and all of that, what would you do then?” Jaina asked her. “Would you go with me?”

Sylvanas answered that question far too quickly. “No. If I didn’t care about any of that, I would get you the finest room I could in Silvermoon. I would visit you there every chance I could, but no, I would still fight. I would still defend our lands.”

“Why? Why, if you didn’t have to?” Jaina asked.

“Because I would always have to. It’s my birthright. I...there’s no way I can make you understand this, but I have no choice. I never had a choice. But it’s so much a part of me, that I couldn’t give it up, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to,” Sylvanas tried to explain.

Her eyes darted about the cabin, as if trying to come up with a better way to express herself. Eventually, she took Jaina’s hands in her own and held them up.

“Imagine if I asked you to forget you could use magic,” Sylvanas went on. “To forget the power that lies within you, always, and to never use it again. You couldn’t, could you?”

No. She could not. Sylvanas must have seen the answer on her face.

“It’s like that, Jaina. It’s like that.”

“You would stay here and die then?” Jaina asked.

“You would follow the words of a man who turns into a bird and flies away when anyone tries to argue with him?” Sylvanas asked back.

“You said it yourself, the humans can’t stay here in Lordaeron,” Jaina said, taking her hands out of Sylvanas’ grip. “While what’s left of the leadership here argues over what to do, who will accept us as refugees, we could be sailing away to somewhere where this isn’t a problem. Yes, it will take a lot of work, and yes, there’s a lot of uncertainty, but think about it. We could rebuild there. We could give the people something new. There’s nothing left for them here.”

Sylvanas’ expression almost turned to hurt for a moment, but then one corner of her lips lifted. Just one. Just faintly, and fondly. “I won’t stop you, you know. And I have no doubt that you will do well for yourself and anyone who follows you if you go. I just...I want you to be safe. That’s all I want. I…”

Jaina watched her hesitate. She watched her debate the next words that followed. She watched them die on Sylvanas’ tongue. 

“I--”

“No,” Jaina said. “You don’t get to pull that card now.”

“I was just going to say that I care about you. I care what happens to you,” Sylvanas told her, though the droop in her ears spoke volumes more.

Jaina found herself reaching back out for her as quickly as she had pushed her away. She wrapped Sylvanas in an embrace that she hoped said what she wouldn’t say. 

It was then that she realized what this was. If she couldn’t convince her, then this was a goodbye.

“I…I don’t want to lose you,” Jaina whispered against the azure silk of her hood. 

To Sylvanas’ credit, she didn’t offer any promises she couldn’t keep in response to that. She didn’t try more words, only to stop herself from saying them. She just held Jaina as tightly as Jaina held her. 

“Stay with me here, tonight,” Sylvanas eventually breathed against her. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again, no matter what happens. Let’s just have one more night.”

“Can you stay even?” 

All at once, a night felt like an eternity longer than what she thought they had, but also too short and too fleeting. Still, it would have to be enough.

“Not really, no. But I think I’m allowed to have one last lapse before I commit myself to defending my people again. I think they can let me have that. In fact, they will have to allow it,” Sylvanas said.

Sylvanas kissed her hard and fast and desperately. Her grip moved from Jaina’s sides to her shoulders, and then to her jaw as she guided her into the kiss. 

Yes. She realized it then. This was a goodbye, an uncertain one, but also a very certain one. Here their paths would diverge. Here, they would look back to as both a beginning and an end. This night, this last night, this last chance. 

No. She had to keep trying. She had to take Sylvanas with her. If she couldn’t convince her with words, then she would have to show her why. 

So Jaina kissed back just as fiercely and deeply. Her teeth bit down a little too hard and a little too possessively. Her hands roamed across this less familiar battle armor, but still managed to find the straps that held it to Sylvanas. 

They forgot the weight and weariness of the day, of the news that had reached them. They forgot the horns of war that sounded, the wails of widows and the screams of those who would die this night. Not that those things didn’t matter, no, not at all that. Only that there would be a time for them, a future that would be enveloped in them. For now, in the few hours they had left, they would be enveloped in each other instead.

Sylvanas eventually had to help with the armor’s straps. Jaina’s Kirin Tor robes were far less complicated, thankfully. She’d opted to go back to wearing a skirt lately, so that was even easier to discard. 

They were on the bed already. Jaina shed the last of her clothing before Sylvanas even managed to get down to the leathers she wore beneath her cuirass. But that didn’t matter. Those were ties and buckles her fingers were already very familiar with. She didn’t let Sylvanas help there. No, she wanted to do it herself. She wanted her for herself. 

That was exactly it, wasn’t it? Her most selfish and awful desire was just to have her. To possess her. To be with her. But Sylvanas had never really been hers to have. Not always. Only sometimes. 

Jaina sat back as she pulled the elf’s trousers off of her and shimmied them down her legs. She felt the heavy weight of the only piece of ornamentation that was still on her own body thud against her breastbone. The gold of the feather pendant was still warm from her skin, which it was always lying next to. These days, she hardly noticed it. She’d worn it for so long now, but not really all that long. Only what...three quarters of a year? 

She leaned back in to kiss Sylvanas after tossing the trousers aside, only to notice that her neck had an extra adornment. Next to Jaina’s charm was another silver chain, from which a great sapphire pendant hung. It was a massive, expensive stone, set in a thin frame of silver. Jaina found her hand sliding down Sylvanas’ neck and hovering over the stone. She looked into her eyes for some sort of permission to touch it, and only did so when Sylvanas gave her a tiny nod. 

Like her own necklace, it was warm to the touch from riding against Sylvanas’ skin all day. The back of the setting was solid silver. She flipped it over, curiously, only to find it was engraved. The Thalassian was easy for her to read now. She read it aloud, softly, “To Sylvanas. Love always, Alleria.”

“A good luck charm,” Sylvanas explained. “It was part a necklace our parents gave to her. She broke it apart and gave that stone to me, the ruby to Vereesa, and kept the emerald for herself. I...I wish she was still here. This is as close as I will get to having her fight by my side.”

Jaina set the pendant gently back down onto her lover’s chest, then kissed her again. She kissed her slowly, languidly, trying to explain with each shift of her lips that she didn’t have to fight. She didn’t have to stand where her older sister should have stood. There was another way, a way that offered so much more. 

Tides, how could she show her? How could she make her believe it? Did Jaina herself even believe it?

No. She had to. 

“Stay with me,” Jaina pleaded as she broke off the kiss. She didn’t add anything else. She didn’t tack on a forever, or any other sort of condition. Because no, Sylvanas was not hers. She might not ever truly be hers, and if she would be, then Jaina would earn her. 

So she was going to try. 

She straddled the one of elf’s thighs between her own, letting her feel exactly how much Jaina wanted her as she pressed herself down on it. She let Sylvanas watch her with an enraptured gaze as she slowly ground herself against the hard muscle of that thigh. Eventually, her calloused hands came up to Jaina’s hips to help guide her. They held her a little too tight and moved her a little too fast, but it felt so good. 

No this...this wasn’t what she was trying to do. Jaina was trying to make her run away with her. She was trying to show her how much she cared, how much Sylvanas meant to her. 

But gods, it was all so heavy and heady. It was the way Sylvanas looked at her--something like she always did when they slept together, all power-drunk on the pleasure she was bringing her and smiling from it--but also something different, a bittersweet tinge that could only be read in the lack of a certain sparkle in her eyes and some new lines around her mouth and brow. The way she held her to herself, strong and confident, but also forlorn. The way that Jaina’s body responded to all of it, mixing emotions and hormones, thoughts and chemicals, doing things to her that neither science nor magic quiet explained. 

She was soon shaking and holding on to Sylvanas’ arms as she fell apart against her thigh. She ground out her orgasm with long, shuddering sighs as Sylvanas kept guiding her hips along relentlessly. Jaina let her for a while, but eventually took hold of her wrists once she could control her own grip again. She pushed them away and laid herself atop Sylvanas, still quivering from the aftershocks. 

But she didn’t let that stop her. She inched herself up to be even with Sylvanas and kissed her again as she brought her hand up to the apex of her thighs. Jaina didn’t waste much time teasing her. They didn’t have that time. No. She had to...she had to show her. 

So she did, with fingers that had become well-practiced at pleasing her, she did. With fingers that knew exactly how much she liked to be touched, how far she liked to be stretched, how sensitive she was there, and how much pressure she needed there, Jaina showed her. She sank her affection in and out of Sylvanas. She rubbed it against her. She bit it into her earlobes and marked it on her shoulder. 

And she hope it would be enough. She hoped it would show her, that it would say what words could not. Jaina drew it out, backing off as Sylvanas had on her so many times before, only to start up again. She wanted her to feel every bit of that, every ounce of pleasure.

And with every frantic flutter of her heart, every bit of the love that neither of them would name.

When she let Sylvanas come, she watched her as she’d watched Jaina before. She watched as the normally wordless cries that came from her formed just one, long, trembling, “Jaina”.

And she all but collapsed onto her then. She withdrew her hand, wiping it only briefly on Sylvanas’ thigh before just using it to hold her as tight as she could. And Sylvanas’ arms came up to do the same. They pressed every bit of skin together that they could, becoming a mesh of warmth and pleasure, exhaustion and apprehension. 

“Sylvanas,” Jaina whispered as she kissed her again and again. “Sylvanas.” 

The smooth sounds of her name punctuated each kiss, each shift to touch more of her. Jaina didn’t know when she’d started crying. She only knew that when she pulled away, there was a wet smudge on Sylvanas’ cheek, just visible, shining in the dim firelight. 

But set of nimble, bow-calloused fingers quickly came up to sweep those tears away. Sylvanas’ voice was so steady, so kind as she said, “Stay with me, Jaina. Just stay with me now.”

Jaina could feel that strength again, that warm, steady stream of something that always seemed to emanate from Sylvanas. It was what always managed to pull her away from her own darkness and despair. It was what always made it so easy to smile and laugh with her. It felt like sunshine after to the rain, like the slow creep of magic seeping back into her from a leyline, like eating a favorite food after going hungry. 

It had always been there for her, just another part of Sylvanas, another wonderful quality of her and her presence. 

“I’m right here,” Jaina told her. She put her hand over Sylvanas’ heart. “I’m...I’m right here.”

Sylvanas flashed her a smile before pulling her back down into another kiss. 

But Jaina could feel the tears on the elf’s cheeks then, and the ones that still stung at her eyes. Even as Sylvanas smiled into that kiss, she could feel them. 

But she kept smiling. She kept kissing her. She let those kisses travel tenderly along Jaina’s neck and shoulders. She rolled them over and kissed her way across Jaina’s body, as she had so many nights before, yet so few nights in the relative scheme of things. She danced a dance they were familiar with, but hadn’t quite mastered. 

Sylvanas kissed the tip of the golden feather that lay between Jaina’s breasts. “Be with me now,” she commanded again. 

It was as heavy as a battle order, but as light as a joke. Be with me now, because you can’t later. Be with me now, because neither of us knows what will happen. Be with me now, because tomorrow, you will have to decide.

Sylvanas kept sliding down her body, making sure that Jaina felt her over every inch of it. Whether it was her tongue, her lips, her teeth, her fingers, or even the warmth and hardness of her own body, she made sure to be felt, to be known, all the way up until she settled herself between Jaina’s thighs. 

Normally, Jaina would protest about being too sensitive still. Normally, she’d demand a bit more of a reprieve, but no, not now. She wouldn’t deny Sylvanas anything now, and she couldn’t really deny herself either. She wanted her. She wanted everything Sylvanas was willing to give her, and more than that. So much more.

So when a hot, wet tongue found her still hot and wet center, she only welcomed it with a gasp and fingers threaded through silvery blonde hair. When two fingers joined in along with it, she welcomed them with a low moan, and a too strong grasp on that hair. She just wanted. She wanted so much. 

And Sylvanas gave it to her. She handed it to her in a combination of roughness and softness. She gave it with understanding and warmth and maybe love. She couldn’t know. Jaina didn’t want to know. Not now. Not yet. No, only when she could have it all.

But for now, this was what she would get of her. This was all she could have, and it was wonderful for that reason, and also terrible. And that shook her as deeply as her orgasm did. Even as the waves of pleasure washed over her, even as Sylvanas held her hips down to keep them coming, Jaina just wanted to lose her thoughts to them, but she couldn’t. She felt so much and so quickly that the world overwhelming wasn’t even enough to describe it. 

So when Sylvanas crawled up alongside her again, Jaina could barely open her eyes. She wanted to say something, anything, but all she could do was watch as Sylvanas brushed the hair away from her face. She could only see the light in her glowing eyes, and the gentle smile on her face. It was almost as if this was normal, as if they would see one another again soon. Just another hard day, and just another beautiful night with Sylvanas. 

She could almost believe that. Almost. 

Sylvanas tucked the last stray bit of golden hair behind her ear. She let her hand rest on Jaina’s cheek, and just kept her eyes on her, almost like she was trying to capture that image. 

“We’re talking about this again, in the morning,” Jaina finally managed to say. “I...I don’t…I can’t let you...”

“Shh,” Sylvanas said, kissing her forehead as she leaned in closer and took Jaina into her arms. “Rest now. In the morning, yes, you can say all you want. Just rest with me now, Jaina.”

Jaina gave in. She let herself be wrapped in Sylvanas, in the warmth of her, in the scent of her sweat, in the amazing way that she made her feel. She sank into that strength, that light that always welcomed her. She let it lull her to sleep.

And she woke up without it. Warm still, but alone. She instantly knew she was alone. The fire had been stoked back up, but there was no weight beside her in the bed, no slack arms draped over her, or gentle snoring against the back of her neck. No. There was nothing. 

Sylvanas was gone. She’d left before Jaina could try again.

The tears were already pooling in her eyes even as she shot up and looked around the room. They were running as she clutched a sheet to her naked body and opened the door to the cabin, only to find that snow had drifted up against it and was otherwise undisturbed. 

No, she was gone. She was back in Quel’thalas, back to whatever fate would await her there.

Jaina almost missed the note on the table. She only saw it when she went looking for her clothes. In her fury, in her rage and her sadness, she almost missed Sylvanas’ goodbye.

_Jaina,_

_I hope you will understand why I had to leave, in time. I will only ask you this one last time to keep yourself safe. You are brilliant and powerful, so I know that you can, no matter where you go. Just remember to look out for yourself as much as you do for others._

_May the winds be in your favor, and may they bring you back to me someday._

_\- Sylvanas_

\---

“I still haven’t forgiven her,” Jaina insisted three days later.

Sponge was, as always, a very willing listener, but couldn’t offer much in the way of advice. That was just fine. Jaina felt a bit beyond advice at the moment. She was just doing what she felt she needed to do. At this point, there was nothing else left to do.

Writing this letter felt like packing up her room had felt. It was just like sorting through her things, finding what she could and couldn’t live without. There was honestly very few material possession that mattered to her, once she’d dug them all out. Most of them were things she’d received in the last year, things she wore now--Modera’s cloak, Sylvanas’ knife, the feather pendant. 

And all the words she thought she would have to say to Sylvanas were coming out the same. There was so much she’d gone into this letter wanting to express. She’d brought a whole stack of paper with her, and had conjured herself a good supply of ink to match. But she’d only just filled a page. There was only one thing left to say. 

“No, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive her,” Jaina said to Sponge, who she could feel watching over her shoulder as she wrote. “But now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t think I could have changed her mind. I just…”

She sighed. She drew in air around her, waiting for the familiar smells of the cabin to calm her. Woodsmoke, dried herbs, snow, wet wood. No. They no longer had that effect. Whatever magic they’d had before was gone. 

“She was going to do what she thought she had to do, no matter what I said,” Jaina justified as she set her quill to the paper again. “And if she didn’t, well, then that wouldn’t be our stubborn, pig-headed Sylvanas then, would it?”

She lifted the quill up again and turned to face Sponge. The elemental took his full shape, churning up from the stones of the hearth, perhaps warming himself by the fire. She could never tell with him, what he truly needed to survive or thrive. She knew what made him happy, though, and knew that he wasn’t going to see much of it lately.

“But I think she deserves to know how I feel, all the same,” Jaina told him. “I mean, I can still come back here. I’m pretty sure this enchantment will work no matter what the distance. I don’t know if she will for a while, though, or even if I will. I mean...I still have to convince them to go…”

Jaina trailed off, realizing that she was just stalling by trying to explain herself to Sponge. He didn’t need it. He was already tied to her heart. She could feel him there, even now. Their bond encircled her chest like a wrapping of thin twine. No, it was gentler than that. Like a ribbon, maybe. 

No, he knew. He knew how she felt, probably in a simpler and better way than she even understood it. 

Jaina sucked in another breath. She turned back to the letter again. She pressed the quill back to the paper, and tried to steady her hand enough to make that words that came from it legible as she continued where she left off.

_Maybe, if we all come out of this all right, we should talk about what that means for the future. Maybe we shouldn’t hide anymore._

_Whatever happens, wherever we go, just know that I love you. I won’t wait for the winds to carry me back to you. I will carry myself. And if I have to be without you, that I hope it doesn’t have to go on for too long._

_That’s right. I said it. Or well, I wrote it. That’s a start, at least. I love you, Sylvanas. I love you and I will miss you terribly. Fight well and we’ll find each other again when this is all over._

_Love,_

_Jaina_

There was such a finality to that word, to love. It had scared her, once. Love was a thing of forever, a concept for fairy tales and other people. But no, she could own up to this. It was true, after all. 

Jaina watched as the ink dried on the paper, sealing the words in with it. Only when they were fully flush to the paper did she get up from the chair and turn back to Sponge. 

“If she comes here, can you make sure she sees this?” Jaina asked of him. “And maybe, if you can, tell me? I don’t know if you can. I just...it’s important. You know it’s important. I know you know. I…”

The water elemental inclined his head, or what functioned as a head, giving her one of his little nods. He reached out to her, almost brushing her with a watery fist, but stopping short, knowing that she would rather not be soaked by the contact.

Jaina reached out anyway, brushing her hand against his. The water dripped off of it as she withdrew it, just as cold and damp as she knew it would be, but she didn’t care. 

“Thank you, Sponge. Thank you for understanding,” she told him.

\---

Four days later, she’d more than forgiven her. Four days later, Jaina hung on the edge of the war councils and strategy meetings, listening to every report that came out of Quel’thalas. That is, until they stopped coming. 

Once Arthas had made it past the first gate, communications to the outside world had shut down pretty quickly. The elves had made defense their top priority, as they always did. They defended themselves, and when times got tough, they folded back into themselves again. The world had to be reminded that they were, at heart, isolationists. 

Jaina noted the absence of many of her elven comrades. Most had gone back home to help defend their lands. Only those who were vital to the inner-workings of the Kirin Tor had stayed.

But as the hours grew longer and longer, and no new news came, she was as nervous as any of the pointy-eared magisters that still lingered in Dalaran. Of course, she couldn’t say why. Not yet, anyway. No, after all of this, maybe. Now that she wasn’t beholden to Arthas anymore. Gods no. She almost wretched at the thought.

But hours had grown now into a full day. A day where she noticed that several key figures could not be found in their usual haunts around the Violet Citadel. A conspicuous number of key figures, actually.

No, Jaina had not been able to find Antonidas or Modera. She’d checked the library for Rhonin several times, only to find his table empty. She’d even gone looking for Kael’thas among his cronies, but the elven prince, whose presence was usually hard to miss, seemed to have fashioned excuses for himself to be everywhere she didn’t look for him.

Jaina had a hunch. Well, more than a hunch. She had a chance to be heard. That’s what she really had. She just had to make it happen.

She knew approximately where the Purple Parlor was. Of course, she’d never been up there. It was strictly reserved for the Council of Six, Dalaran’s ruling body. Dalaran’s very secretive ruling body. She’d known for some time that Antonidas was a member of it. That was a given, at least, and proven by some of the correspondence she would go over for him when she was apprenticed to him. She’d had her suspicions about others, of course.

But the absence of these people over the last day was not a coincidence. She knew it was them. They were meeting. They were talking about what to do. They were probably getting more information about the goings on in Quel’thalas than the rest of the city too. 

And Jaina was just about done with not being heard, with being told her thoughts about Kalimdor and the Prophet were nonsense. She was done with being in the dark, done with nothing mattering, done with no one taking any action, done with talking things out instead of doing something.

So she stood beneath the tower, looking up at the room far above her. The lights were on. Shadows moved in and out of view through the windows. She could see them. She knew they were there. 

Jaina reached out with her magic. She felt her way along the filaments that made up the world around her. She tugged herself up that tower, until she hit a wall--a wall of wards. Here, one for silencing, to prevent eavesdropping--there, one to stop unauthorized portals from opening in the room, as well as to protect it from being teleported into. Oh, she could try to undo them all. She could do it. She could unravel them, bit by bit. She could feel the end of their threads, fraying like a fine scrap of silk left to the wind. 

Or she could just push past them. She’d done it before. She’d done it by accident, even. That was how she met Sylvanas, how she’d become Antonidas’ apprentice, how she’d started to become comfortable with the power that roiled inside of her, how she began to control it, how she learned to trust herself. It had only been a little over a year since then.

She could do it again.

Jaina summoned all of her will, all of that anger, all of her anxiety. She shaped it into a singular desire, and shot herself along it. Just let me in, she demanded of the magic. Just let me in.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like Quel’thalas had been. No, she definitely felt the resistance this time. She felt the wards grip at her, trying to stand in her way, trying to hold her back. But she also felt them shatter around her. She felt the splinters of their magic buckle and break around her, and felt them combining with her spell, making it even stronger the more and more she broke through.

So when she did find herself standing in the Purple Parlor, Jaina wasn’t looking quite as dignified as she hope to be. No, she was a panting, shaking mess. She felt like she might vomit at any moment, but she did it. She fucking did it.

Jaina’s vision was blurry, but she could make our six faces she knew well, or at least knew, staring at her in astonishment as she panted out her exertion. Antonidas, of course. Modera, she had suspected, but was pleasantly surprised to see. Kael’thas, another of course. Rhonin she had also guessed. Krasus, she didn’t know much of, except that he was another obvious possibility. The same with Drenden. This was them, all right. The Council of Six.

“Jaina, child, what are you doing?” Antonidas finally asked.

“Not a child,” she spat between heavy breaths. “I just...I just want you all to listen to me.”

“Jaina, you can’t be here,” Rhonin warned her.

“Well, I’m here,” she replied. Jaina stood up, trying to emulate the ways she’d seen Sylvanas stand before. Feet wide apart, shoulders square. A warrior’s stance. A demand for respect. “Just listen to me. Just for a few minutes, all right?”

“How in the hell did she--” Kael’thas started questioning, and immediately gestured his blame towards Modera.

Modera, who snapped back at the prince, “It doesn’t matter. She wanted in badly enough to get in. I think that deserves our attention, doesn’t it? Go on, Jaina. Say what you want to say. You’ve earned the right.”

Now, suddenly faced with the gazes of the six most important mages in the world, Jaina felt unsure. It all seemed to ludicrous, so impossible. 

No. She was right. She was absolutely right. She knew she could do it. She had a plan. She could make this work. She could save what little there was left of Lordaeron.

“I just want to ask, one more time, if you will support my efforts to lead the refugees of Lordaeron to Kalimdor,” she told them.

“This again,” Drenden sighed. She didn’t know the man well, but he must have already heard of her efforts. Clearly, he did not agree with them.

“More of the Prophet’s nonsense. You’ve rubbed off on her, old man,” Kael’thas chided, poking at Antonidas, who sat in a plush purple chair to his right. 

“I was merely proposing it as a scenario, should Quel’thalas fall,” Antonidas told the prince.

“Which it won’t,” Kael’thas replied with trademark confidence. 

“We’ve not had any news since Arthas reached the second gate yesterday,” Krasus reminded him. “I’d say that’s a distinct possibility that you can’t rule out yet, my prince.” The slightly odd-looking elven mage seemed to spit that last epithet out as if it had been a bad taste in his mouth.

“And I will continue telling you it’s nonsense. Sylvanas and her rangers will hold the monster off at the second gate, just as we held the Orcish Horde there. They’ll pick off his army until we can make a decisive attack and end him. Maybe then, you’ll all show the elves the respect they deserve,” Kael’thas said, more to the humans in the room than the to elf that just contradicted him.

“We were listening to Jaina, not you,” Modera reminded him flatly. The older woman nodded to Jaina to continue. 

Jaina began again. He nausea subsided. Steady, she told herself. Be steady and strong. Tell them what you know. Tell them. “I know that this isn’t the first time any of you have heard this from me, but I worked out the numbers. There’s just enough ships left, if we combine the capable vessels in the merchant fleets and the remainder of the larger ships in the navy. We can fit everyone left in Lordaeron, or at least if the estimates are correct. It won’t be an easy trip. Rations and space will be limited, but we can make it. We can get everyone to Kalimdor. It’s possible.”

“And to what end?” Krasus asked her. Clearly, he liked to play devil’s advocate.

“To give these people hope, something to live for, a land that isn’t rotting around them, that isn’t full of the memories of those they’ve already lost,” Jaina told him.

“It’s not a possibility we should ignore--” Antonidas began.

“But you can’t expect them to just give up their homes--” Rhonin started.

“We’ll have this all sorted in a month, just--” Kael’thas insisted.

But they all stopped. They all stopped short in their objections. Kael’thas first. The elven prince gripped at his ears as if someone had just screamed. He let out an awful sound. A mournful, low wail. Jaina watched as the rest of the mages began to react. Some gripped at their heads, others staggered where they stood. Krasus stopped pacing, as he had been in a far corner for the room. His ears twitched upward, as if he’d heard something, then fell abruptly. 

Then Jaina felt it. It was low and distant. Something she’d always known went out, like the light of a familiar candle, flickering away. She searched after it, trying to figure out what it was. What was missing? She watched Modera’s eyes point to the north.

Yes, something wasn’t there anymore. A pull, a current, a sound even. What was it? Why was it gone now?

A portal flashed into existence. An elven ranger stepped out of it. Feathers graced her pauldrons, but too few of them. Wounds crawled across one arm, which was barren of its own armor, instead having replaced it with bloodied bandages that had been applied far too hastily and ineffectively. So much so that blood still dripped from her clenched fist. 

The red-rimmed eyes of Vereesa Windrunner scanned the room. They landed first on her husband, who started to run to her side. Next, they came to rest on her prince. And finally, they found Jaina. 

They were still on her when Vereesa sobbed out a single, terrible phrase, “Silvermoon has fallen.”


End file.
